


good morning, springs

by guineaDogs



Category: South Park
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, M/M, Radio, Wedding Reception, Weddings, drunken dumbassery, emdash abuse, too many drinks on the dancefloor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 17:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17248766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineaDogs/pseuds/guineaDogs
Summary: Something embarrassing happens at Clyde and Kenny's wedding reception, and Cartman decides to go to the airwaves to put Kyle on blast.





	good morning, springs

**Author's Note:**

> This is a stupid idea I've had since the spring, and... well, here it is. I've suffered writer's block all month so I'm glad this is finally done even tho I'm kinda eeeeh about how it turned out.

“What up, what up, what  _ up _ ! This is Cartmanbrah coming to you  _ liiiiive _ from the heart of the Springs, bay-bee.” Eric Cartman, host of the prolific morning show, the  _ Mountain Dew-des  _ on 96.9 SXDX, swiveled in his chair as he addressed his faithful listeners. If anyone were to ask him, it was  _ at least _ 700,000 people turning their dials to listen to his totally sultry and  _ sexy _ voice discuss various topics, including pop culture and stupid people doing stupid things. His favorite.

(If that number happened to be particularly close to the population of the entire Colorado Springs Metro area… well, that sure was an interesting coincidence, wasn’t it?)

In truth, it was about 100,000 on a good day from north of Monument to south of Pueblo. Most of them were likely sad fucks, stuck in traffic, with literally nothing else to do but listen to his sometimes incoherent ramblings and abuse of sound effects. 

“I’ve got I-Can’t-Believe-It’s-Butters in the hiz-ouse today, because as you know, our boy Ken’s off getting railed in Estes Park for his honeymoon. Maybe he’s doing the railing, who knows, we’ll have to ask him when he’s back next week. Butters, say hi to the fine folks listening in this morning.”

Butters fussed with his headset for a moment, and once he leaned forward to speak into the mic, he sounded hesitant. “Good morning, folks. Eri — Cartmanbrah, wants me to go over the weather and traffic. It’s an easy-breezy 53 degrees here at the station, but jeez folks, if you’re in Monument it might snow. Don’t forget to bring a jacket! Down in Pueblo it’s gonna get up in the 70s! But don’t think you’re off the hook yet, you’re supposed to get one of those late spring snows this week too! Say — Cartman, you ever go down there for the Frijoles y Chile Festival? I’ve heard it’s ‘sposed to be swell.”

Eric shot his friend a glare, muting his mic as he muttered. “Goddamnit, Butters, focus.”

“Right. So traffic is moving slowly but surely along I-25. Ever think about how much worse traffic would be if they started construction to extend the lanes? Yikes. But we’ve got a wreck near the off-ramp in Fountain, and there’s another around Garden of the Gods…” Butters read the information from the sheet of paper that had the latest traffic information, and was admittedly relieved when Eric took over.

“Anyway, for those of you who’ve been paying attention,” Eric began, pausing mid-sentence to slurp the slushee he got every morning from Loaf ‘n Jug on his morning commute. “Kenny got married over the weekend. And it was nice, as far as weddings go. Good food, open bar, all of the essentials needed for me to wanna attend a wedding, nah’mean, Butters?”

“I sure do, Eric!”

“I’m sure Kenny’ll wanna talk about things himself when he’s back,  _ but. _ There’s one thing. One incident that can’t wait. You see, there was this thing involving one of the best men. Let’s call him  _ Kyle _ _ — _ ”

“But that  _ is _ his name.”

“Shut up Butters. Anyway — ”

 

* * *

 

It was a duty Kyle took seriously. When Kenny told him that he and Clyde were getting married, he’d been elated. When Kenny asked Kyle to be his best man, he felt  _ honored,  _ and immediately held himself personally accountable for the success of the ceremony. Perhaps that was why Kenny had asked him — they’d been best friends for years, so maybe that was a factor, sure — but there likely wasn’t anyone who was as organized and efficient as Kyle. 

He wanted everything to be perfect for Kenny, because as far as he was concerned, if anyone deserved a perfect wedding, it was Kenny. By extension, Clyde did as well. Over the years the two dated, Kyle liked to think he’d gotten to know Clyde fairly well, and he while he had his own pessimistic views about love and dating, he could admit that they brought out the best in each other.

In the months leading up to the wedding, he’d made himself available for whatever they needed. Scheduling meetings with vendors? Got it. Design the wedding invitations himself to save Kenny a couple hundred bucks and make sure they got mailed on time. You can count on it. Want him to follow up with everyone who hadn’t sent back their RSVP? He had no problem hounding for them. 

Kenny didn’t even ask him to make the group chat Kyle made with the rest of the wedding party to ensure everyone got their outfits fitted in time. No, Kyle took that upon himself. 

When the rehearsal came about, things went about as well as they could have. It was organized chaos. The venue they’d chosen was some historic house in the mountains, one that had a gorgeous view that would make for some stellar wedding photographs. The plan was simple, theoretically. The ceremony itself would take place on the grounds, the reception inside, held in massive Victorian parlors. 

But when they congregated on the grounds the day before, the only thing that was set up was the gazebo — since it was there year round. No chairs, no runner, and  _ some _ people lacked the imagination to figure out where they were supposed to go without those markers in place. It was even more chaotic considering the poor wedding planner could hardly speak over the boisterous wedding party. But Kyle had a voice that could project, and he had no problem reiterating everything the wedding planner said to ensure that procession information was heard by all.

They had finished the first rehearsal when  _ he _ spoke to him. Kyle hadn’t put faces to names yet, but he knew the tall, black-haired man was one of Clyde’s groomsmen. “It’s Kyle, right? Chill the fuck out.”

“I am  _ ‘chill.’ _ Since when is there a problem with wanting my friends to have a nice wedding?”

“There isn’t.” The conversation continued through gritted teeth as they took their spots beside each other in the procession. “But you’ve been blowing up the group chat for six months. It’s time to relax and roll with it.”

Except it  _ wasn’t. _ Kyle would’ve said as much, were it not their turn to walk, and god dammit he took this  _ seriously. _ Practice or not, he wasn’t going to ruin things by bickering. He knew the truth anyway: the time to relax wasn’t going to arrive until after the ceremony the following afternoon.

The morning of the wedding was spent tucked away with Kenny and their friends at the nearby hotel. Stan determined that it would only take a couple hours for them to get ready, and as they munched on on muffins and coffee, he hooked up a PS4 to the flatscreen. For a short while, things were actually fun. It was nostalgic gaming with his best buds, something none of them had much time to do since college. 

The default tone for the alarm he set went off exactly at 11:00. Fun time was over, and Kyle was certain to remind everyone of that. “Alright guys, Kenny needs to get ready. And so do we. Ken — if you need anything, shoot me a text.”

Stan and the others filed out, and as Kyle went to follow, Kenny stopped him. 

“Kyle, buddy. Pal.” He squeezed his shoulder. “I think you’re more worked up and nervous about this than  _ I _ am. It’s gonna be fine. I couldn’t have done it without you, and I appreciate everything you’ve done. But dude… do you want a Klonopin? Or a hit? You know I can hook you up.”

Kyle shook his head with a nervous laugh. “No, I shouldn’t.”  Either of those things could have theoretically helped with his own apprehension and anxieties, but he also didn’t want that to essentially  _ overcorrect _ . He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he made an ass of himself and ruined Kenny and Clyde’s  _ wedding.  _ “I’ll be fine.”

And he was. He took a deep breath and held it as he used far too much product in an attempt to style and tame his curls.  _ I just need to cut my hair again _ . It was an idle thought, nothing he could resolve at that point. The best he could do was ensure he looked presentable — as much as he could in an  _ orange _ tux — and once he accomplished that, he double and triple checked that he had everything he needed. Wallet, hotel keycard, and so on.

Taking a deep breath, he left the hotel to pile into the limo with Kenny, Stan, and their other friends. He was the only one to buckle his seatbelt; the rest of the rowdy bunch ignored their own safety in favor of showering Kenny with nudges and excited congratulations for what was soon to come. 

“You look good, Ken.” Kyle said, and as he looked at the itinerary on his phone, he continued, “We should arrive at the venue in ten minutes, unless something unexpected happens with regard to traffic. The flowers were dropped off earlier this morning, and the chairs should be —”

“Here,” Kenny interrupted him, passing him a flask. “Drink some of this and chill the fuck out, man. I’m the one who’s supposed to be stressed,” he added with a laugh. 

A whiff of the contents burned his nostrils, and as his brows furrowed, he glanced about the limo. “What is this?

“Moonshine,” Cartman, some burly man that Kyle had tried to spend the better part of his time ignoring, answered helpfully. “I got a cousin out in Nebraska who distills this shit in his spare time.”

“Does he have a distilling permit?” Kyle inquired, tilting the flask some as if that was going to reveal the contents to him.

_“Does he have a distilling permit,_ ” Cartman mocked. “Of course he doesn’t, that’s what makes it cool. Stop being a fucking faggot and have some or pass it along. You’re being a downer.” 

Staring down at the flask, Kyle inwardly sighed and resigned to his face. When he upturned the flask, he got much more than he bargained for. It burned his throat, overtook his senses in the worst way, more than any other liquor he’d tried. The coughing fit was one that prompted a round of laughter, of Kenny patting his back as Cartman reached over for the flask.

“That shit’s awful.” 

Cartman chortled. “Only because you’re a pussy. I bet you like all those bitch drinks that are different colors.”

Before Kyle could finish his dissenting remark, Stan quickly interjected, successfully keeping the peace for at least a while longer. “Enough. We’re almost there.”

The limo turned at that moment, passing through wrought-iron gates, making its way along the long winding road of the estate. It took a few minutes in total, and soon they were piling out of the limo and into the formal parlor of the Victorian house museum rented out for the wedding and reception. 

That was when Kyle saw him again. Clyde’s  _ asshole _ best man — Craig, as Kyle had made sure to find out the night before during the rehearsal dinner — was standing not too far away, in the corner of the ornate but minimally decorated parlor. (“We wouldn’t be able to rent out this space as a venue if we had artifacts on display,” the museum representative, dressed in all black, told him.) 

Craig’s attention was solely on his phone, but he must have felt Kyle’s eyes on him, as he looked up not long after, tucking his phone into the breast pocket of his tux. Kyle wasn’t sure which of them had it worse —Kyle in a bright orange tux along with the rest of Kenny’s groomsmen, or Craig, in the deep red that Clyde’s groomsmen wore. Really, both sets were unfortunate.

“You’re going to blind someone, Kyle,” Craig told him with a quirk of his lips that made suddenly aware that Craig wasn’t so bad on the eyes. Still an asshole, though.  _ Definitely. _

Kyle cast a glance downward at his outfit before finally gesturing toward Craig’s. “You’re going to make  _ everyone’s  _ eyes bleed.”

It felt like a shared moment, both a joke and a criticism about the color choices they had no choice but to go along with. Neither quite looked at one another in an effort to stifle their laughter. Not long after, the ceremony began. It was showtime, and Kyle felt relaxed as the procession began, as he took his spot near the gazebo. He remained composed, but happy for his dear friend during the exchanging of the vows.

He always expected Clyde would be the one to crack, but it was Kenny who broke, whose voice cracked in the midst of telling Clyde what he loved about him. Without being able to see his face, Kyle knew there were tears running down Kenny’s cheeks, and Kyle couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like to love someone that much.

Photos followed the ceremony, and not much later, Kyle found himself at the reception. The same house museum apparently contained a ballroom, which was decorated with streamers. Tables filled one part of the ballroom, nestled between the bar and the buffet tables. Kyle took his spot, enjoyed a bright blue drink from the bar with his dinner. He had no idea what it was, but it was fruit and not overly sweet and that was good enough. 

Before his toast, he had another. He felt relaxed, loose, but his delivery was still on point. He had another drink as he watched the newlyweds share their first dance. Which… was surprising. Kyle anticipated the DJ to play some cheesy love ballad. What he hadn’t expected was for the overly familiar melody for the fucking  _ Chicken Dance _ to start not long after Clyde and Kenny joined on the dancefloor, holding hands. 

The couple broke out dancing, but after a full round of it, the song abruptly changed and they seamlessly began their proper slow dance.

There was a smile on Kyle’s face even as he shook his head and rolled his eyes. “In hindsight, I don’t know why I’m surprised at all. That’s so  _ them. _ ” He told Craig, mostly because he was the closest person at the table within earshot. 

It was loud enough in the ballroom that Craig had to lean over to respond. “Clyde’s been practicing this for  _ months. _ I walked in on him in the living room one night.”

“Really —” Why that was so amusing to Kyle, he didn’t know. But as he finished off yet another drink, he thought it was the most hilarious thing ever.

After a while, it was difficult to keep track of how much time passed, how many drinks he’d consumed. But it didn’t matter. Kenny and Clyde were having a good time,  _ he _ was having a good time, sometimes talking to his friends, sometimes talking to Craig

“Do you dance?”

Kyle snorted at the question. “No, dude, I suck hardcore.”

“Good, me too. C’mon.” 

He stared at Craig’s outstretched hand, debating his options. But at the end of the day, he was far too buzzed to care about what others might think of his awful dancing. “Alright,” he agreed, taking Craig’s hand in his own as he got to his feet. That was when it hit him. The dizzying, floating feeling that made him feel like his legs weren’t connected to the rest of his body.

Craig seemed to be steadier on his feet, at least, and Kyle had no problem relying on the other man to guide them to the dancefloor, to hold fast to his hips as they swayed somewhat in rhythm with the music. It was actually sort of nice. He still didn’t like dancing, still wasn’t good at it, but there was something thrilling about touching and moving so closely against someone as attractive as Craig was.

Especially since Craig hadn’t called him out on being overbearing since the rehearsal. 

When the song ended, Kyle had managed to step on Craig’s feet only a handful of times, which Craig had been sure to comment on:  _ you really suck at dancing, don’t you. _ In his drunken state, Kyle felt brazen, emboldened, and was sure to quip:  _ that’s not the only thing I suck. _

Craig smirked, fortunately not put off by the comment. Rather than pulling away from Kyle entirely, he slid his hand further down, cupping one of Kyle’s asscheeks as he leaned in. “Guess I’ll have to find out, won’t I?”

When he pulled away, his expression was  _ wicked _ and Kyle felt inclined to drag Craig off to a utility closet, or somewhere equally trashy. Instead, it was a retreat to one of the parlors with another round of drinks. It was only after he finished did he realize that he was well-past his limit. There was an unpleasant feeling in his stomach, but he was certain it was one he could overcome. It wasn’t the first time he’d had one too many.

Ditching his empty glass among rack cards for someone else to take care of, he kept his attention on Craig, who was studying a series of photographs hung on the walls as he sipped his drink. “The person I spoke to earlier said they’re all reproductions of photographs taken here locally.” 

“Hm.” Craig continued eyeing the photos for a moment. “The originals were probably ambrotypes, based on the—what.” He frowned as he caught the look Kyle was giving him. “I like photography.”

“No, no, uh—I think that’s really cool.” And he did. Truly. Craig just happened to catch him while he was attempting to keep his rebelling stomach at bay. Really, he’d be fine. He was probably just focusing on it too much. What he needed to focus on instead was Craig. Because Craig was… cute. Hot? Attractive. Even in the too-red tux, even if Kyle had initially thought he was a jerk.

Taking a step closer, he wrapped his fingers around Craig’s. He leaned up, caught Craig’s lips against his own—and immediately Craig turned, facing Kyle fully. The kiss deepened, with Craig’s hand tangling in Kyle’s hair, while his own hands rested against Craig’s ass, tugging him flush against him.

It was a good kiss. A great kiss, even, one where Craig backed Kyle up against a wallpapered wall. One that paused so they could catch their breaths, so they could attempt to navigate their way out of the labyrinthine mansion. 

The exit sign was in view when it happened. When all the excitement, all the moving around, all the booze caught up with him. Despite this being on his radar, the feeling of bile rising up his throat felt abrupt and sudden. Covering his mouth with his hand, he lurched forward. If he could make it to the exit, it would be okay. 

Just a few more steps, and— 

 

* * *

 

“ —and  _ then _ he—” Cartman paused, distracted by the buzzing of his phone on the desk he was leaning against. His lips curled into something awful as he saw the name appear on his lock screen. This was just  _ rich.  _ “Hold the phone. You won’t  _ believe _ who’s calling in right now.”  _ Technically _ it was his personal phone and not the station line, so he  _ shouldn’t _ have been hooking his cell up to the equipment that would broadcast the phone call for all of his listeners to hear. As if he could pass up this opportunity.

“Why hello, Kahl—”

Cartman wasn’t at all surprised at all when the redhead cut him off with his fiery temper. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What ever do you mean, Ky- _ luh _ ? I’m simply doing my job, bringing news and entertainment to my faithful—”

“Your station is literally called  _ sucks dicks _ , Fatass.”

“Whoa, hold on a second, Kyle, the FCC won’t like it if you’re talking like that on the radio.”

“You put me on  _ live? _ I didn’t consent to this. Take me off the air you — ” The very obvious swears were covered up by obnoxious sound effects as Butters frantically tried to prevent them getting in trouble.

“Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. You’re really getting worked up over nothing.”

“Bull —” The rest of the expletive was bleeped out with the sound of an elephant trumpeting. “You’re publicly airing my dirty laundry  _ for kicks _ . I have every right to be pissed right now, Cartman!”

“Oh, Kyle,” Cartman intentionally sounded as condescending as possible. “All I was doing was providing next segment. Cupid Me, the  _ Jew _ -dition. Do you know what that is, Kahl?” When he was met with silence, he continued. “It’s where we discuss missed opportunities between potential love birds and try to—”

“So it’s Missed Connections.”

“ _ No _ , Kahl, it’s Cupid Me. Jesus Christ, pay attention—look, it was obvious that you and Craig, uh… liked each other. Wouldn’t you want to ask him out on a date?”

Kyle was quiet for a moment, and the shuffling that could be heard through the receiver was an indication to Cartman that he was at least thinking about. “I mean, yeah, but  _ dude _ , that whole situation—”

“You’re in luck, Kahl!” Cartman gleefully informed him. “I have Craig’s number right here in front of me. Shall we call him?”

“Absolutely n—”

“Excellent, it’s ringing now.”  Cartman tapped his fingers on the desk as the phone rang, once, twice, before he was greeted with a nasally  _ this is Craig. _ There were merits to having obtained the number to Craig’s work cell; it was almost a guarantee that he’d answer, and here it was. 

“Craig, Craiggo, my man, this is Cartmanbrah from the hit morning show, the Morning Dew-des.”

“What.”

Cartman inhaled sharply and continued. “Only the most popular morning show on the Front Range,  _ Craig. _ Since it’s obvious that you’re somehow unaware of my  _ awesome _ show, I’ll explain the segment we’re currently on. See, it’s called Cupid Me, and what we do is reconnect two people who are potentially into each other.”

“Like Missed Connections.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he was quick to retort. “No, it’s not like Missed Connections,  _ Craig! _ ” He paused, regaining his composure, before he continued. “So let’s just cut to the chase. Do you remember a guy named Kyle? Tall, red hair, Jewish, attended the same wedding you did over the weekend?”

“He vomited on an antique rug.” Craig’s tone was dry and matter-of-fact, and not one that let on what he was thinking at all. But, whatever, it wasn’t Cartman’s problem.

“That he did. But before that happened, you two really hit it off didn’t you.” He was met with silence. “No one can hear a shrug, Craig.”

“Oh.” He paused. “Clyde and Kenny aren’t getting back their security depo—”

“ _ Anyway _ , I have Kyle on the line—” 

“Not by choice!”

“You literally—nevermind. Craig, how would you like to see Kyle again?”

Kyle took that moment to cut in. “I can handle my own business, Cartman.” And...well, at least at that moment, Cartman was willing to let him have it. He could lean back, listen in… really, it was a shame he didn’t have popcorn right then.

“I’d like to,” Craig interjected. “See you again. Without as much alcohol.” 

“Oh. Cool. Yeah, I’d like that too. And, uh. I was already planning on taking care of damages and everything—”

“—and that’s Cupid Me, folks!” Cartman said, taking the phone call off the air in favor of directing the attention back on himself. “Yet again, twu-wuv reigns, all thanks to me. Up next, is  _ Oh Yes They Did _ , right after these messages from our sponsors.”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on the 'blr at [thaumatroping](https://thaumatroping.tumblr.com/)


End file.
